


The Opposite of Dreams

by neevebrody



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:09:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neevebrody/pseuds/neevebrody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His answer was to sweep his hand across Rodney's shoulder and arch his hips.  Opening his legs wider, he said just one word, "Please…"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Opposite of Dreams

When John dreamt, or when he could remember his dreams, they were always dark, unfinished and lonely. Oddly, he can remember a time when that wasn't the case. Oh, he'd had the occasional nightmare or dream that would make even Freud scratch his head in wonder, but the dreams of his youth were usually filled with blue skies and adventure, or sweaty, sticky dreams of skin on skin, mouths full of flesh and hard, heavy weight pinning him to the bed.

Now, though, aside from the all too seldom wet dream, there was only guilt and responsibility, regret and feelings of much too much vulnerability and helplessness. Tonight in particular. Image after image roamed his subconscious and even dragging himself awake time after time couldn't stop them. Each time he closed his eyes, he was back on that wooden plinth, the Coalition Council still there, laying blame at his feet like accolades and bouquets of flowers.

Finally, he sat up and scrubbed over his face a couple of times, the harsh scritch of his unshaven skin stinging his palm. Lying there beside him, like the last lifeboat on a sinking ship, was Rodney. The only thing that kept him sane, the one thing that kept his head above the shit line these days.

Rodney, with his sleepy childlike cheeks and uncommonly still hands, one tucked away beneath the pillow, the other limp in the middle of the bed where it had fallen off John's stomach. John reached over and smoothed back the soft, fine hair that stood out in a few places, causing Rodney to stir, his eyelids to flutter.

"John? 'sup?" Rodney raised his head, blinking those drowsy blue eyes into submission to remain open.

John smiled and Rodney made a passable attempt at returning it. The bed shifted as Rodney pulled himself up. "What is it?" His voice, soft as the Lantean moonlight sliding through the shutters, caught John low in his belly.

"Rodney…"

"What?" Rodney blinked some more.

But the words John wanted to say had run off. John knew they were there somewhere. They'd been on the tip of his tongue too many times to count, they were just playing with him now, a sudden game of hide and seek - _ah ha, come and find us_. John opened his mouth then closed it, saying nothing, feeling foolish for waking Rodney. But the look in Rodney's eyes told him that his silence wasn't going to cut it.

John opened his mouth again. "Kiss me?" There. That would have to do; it was simple enough. He drew in a shaky breath as Rodney's hand found his cheek and pulled gently, John going with it until their lips met. Tenderly at first, just a couple of quick brushes before Rodney became more urgent, sliding his hand from John's cheek to the back of his neck, thumb caressing the ridge of bone behind John's ear, a move that made John shudder and stiffened his nipples.

He reached for Rodney, for the rock solid shoulders that proved to be the only barrier to John falling headlong as they deepened the kiss. Yet that was just what John needed - to get lost in Rodney, to give up, to let go - to hand himself over to the one person in two galaxies who _got_ him, who'd always gotten him.

The one person who never asked too many questions, never had unrealistic expectations and had never demanded to know everything, accepting him instead just as he was, in all his unconventional, fucked-up glory.

Rodney McKay. His love and his lover, the best part of him.

They gasped for air as Rodney slowly lowered John back onto the bed, mouth wandering over John's body as he wedged a knee between John's thighs.

"Better?" Rodney asked from somewhere in the vicinity of John's navel.

His answer was to sweep his hand across Rodney's shoulder and arch his hips. Opening his legs wider, he said just one word, "Please…" Breathless and so low, he wasn't sure if Rodney had heard him. But Rodney sat up and quietly kissed him again while fumbling in the nightstand drawer.

John watched Rodney's movements. Awake now, Rodney was deliberate and efficient as he slicked the shiny lube over his hardening cock, jacking it to full staff. The blue of his eyes penetrating as he moved into position. Caressing John's knee with one hand, Rodney used the other to rub the head of his cock up and down over John's opening.

John's breath quickened with each pass and just before he had to utter another, please, he felt the warm bluntness of Rodney as he slowly pushed inside him. John pulled his legs back wider and gripped Rodney's arms trying to tug him closer.

Rodney drew his hips back and thrust forward, catching John's breath. "Yesss," John hissed, pulling Rodney down to him. "Stay inside me… slow, slow." His lips feathered Rodney's as he spoke and then they were kissing again, searching each other's mouths while Rodney made short, slow movements, snapping his hips when he was fully sheathed inside, touching John deep.

And it was too much for John to concentrate on all together. He fell away from Rodney, arching into him, driving Rodney so deep John could practically taste him and, Sweet Jesus, Rodney owned him like this. John licked tight, drawn lips. He'd sell his own grandmother as long as he could have Rodney fuck him this way.

He opened his eyes. Sweat lay in a ring around Rodney's neck and John's ass began to burn with the constant short thrusts. John knew it was hard for Rodney not to move, not to fuck him proper, but he really just needed Rodney to fill him, needed that... connection. When Rodney bent lower, John hid his face in Rodney's neck, holding onto to those strong shoulders, licking away the sweat.

The shift in their positions put constant pressure on John's sweet spot and if Rodney kept this up, John wasn't going to need a hand on him. His rough panting must have given him away, because Rodney changed his rhythm then. Leaning all the way forward, elbows on the bed, Rodney pushed the hair back from John's forehead, his labored breath sending warm gusts across John's skin and then the words… it took John a few moments to concentrate.

"This what you need, John? God, you feel so good… can you… can you come this way… for me… come on my dick, me fucking you and nothing else."

John curled one hand behind Rodney's neck and grasped his hip with the other, holding him, feeling the play of his muscles as Rodney drove into him. John was right on the edge, gasping for air and holding his breath… waiting, waiting.

"Go on, John. I'm right here… I've got you… I've got you." And when Rodney's voice cracked, he planted his lips against John's skin, sending shivers through John that paved the way.

The first spasm hit him as Rodney sucked at the spot behind his ear. "Oh, yeah," Rodney moaned, "that's it… I feel you." Rodney pushed into him harder.

John tumbled over the edge then, falling but not falling, knowing Rodney wouldn't let him, trusting Rodney. Listening to Rodney's breath stutter out as his hips did the same.

"Oh John… oh fuck…" And then Rodney stilled altogether, emptying himself into John and John held him tighter, kissing anywhere and everywhere he could reach until finally Rodney's mouth found his.

The kiss served as an anchor, something to cling to until the room stopped spinning and his vision cleared.

Most times, they talked after sex, as much as a few words strung together here and there could be considered talking. But now, neither of them seemed to need words, much less have the capacity to utter them.

Rodney carefully pulled out and groped the floor behind him for a tee shirt, pair of boxers, anything. Snagging what turned out to be John's incredibly threadbare striped boxers, he wiped them both down and tossed the shorts over his shoulder.

John practically dissolved into the shelter of Rodney's warm body as Rodney drew him in and held him. Rodney's way of telling him it was okay to sleep now, okay to dream, that he'd be there to chase away anything bad, because come morning, it would be business as usual.

John closed his eyes and breathed with Rodney until all conscious thought fell away.


End file.
